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From: losgud <lushgod@hotnomail.com>
Subject: RP--Driving Me Crazy
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=========================
The following is total fiction. Any resemblance etc. is a product of your
imagination. This work is meant as ADULT entertainment. If the laws
where you sit say you're too young to read this, go away and turn
yourself in to the thought police. Even thinking about sex is dirty and
nasty and will warp your mind forever. Go watch a movie or play a
game that ends with a body count in the high four figures. Death and
destruction are good clean fun.
©1997 losgud. Personal use just fine. Archiving okay. Absolutely NO
for-profit use permitted. Reposting without notice is frowned upon.
Tampering with the text (rewriting) is illegal. Copyright violations will
fall under the jurisdiction of my principality, where the punishment is
to discourage repeat offenders. We cut your fucking hands off!
=========================
M/F inc-in-law con humor
NOTE: Kind of batty, kind of long, kind of different. It might be wise
to not wait until the end to put on the asbestos gloves and safety
glasses.
DRIVING ME CRAZY
My wife has this huge crazy extended family. And every last one of
them share this singular obsession. So every time she starts talking
family I flap my arms like I'm a giant crow. Boy do I _caw-caw_ at her.
"If I'd known what was in your genes," I squawk, "I'd never have tried
to get in your jeans." I'm joking of course. Sort of. There's a hell of
a jewel down in those pants, but the wrappings and trappings that
aren't cotton kind of give me the shivers. It's a toss up. They both
drive me crazy, but in entirely different ways of the phrase.
See, the thing is that there's a million of them. That's okay. All of
them are really close. That can be okay. But hardly any of them live
in the same city. That's not okay, but it isn't that bad. They all like
to go visiting each other a whole lot. Does that sound like the worst of
it? Trust me, it's not.
Okay, let me run this down again. There's a ton of these people,
they're all close but they don't live close, and because they all own
cars our country has to be an oil-importing nation. Got it? Here's
another complication. Half the people in the family are divorced, but
everyone remains on very friendly terms. Care for another? Birth
control is commonly pronounced _menopause_. If the men take the
responsibility it's called _impotence_.
The thing of it is this. My wife begs me to hop in the car with her
and go visit one of the aunts. After 100 miles we get there, we're
barely out of the car, and her aunt says to my wife, "What a gorgeous
day you have for your drive. I know what, let's go visit your
grandmother." A hundred miles later we spill out of the car again.
Barely get seated with a cup of coffee when the phone rings. It's a
brother or a niece or an ex-in-law. "What? All of you are over there?
Well, a bunch of us are over here and we've got steaks going on the
grill out back. So _come on over_, I'll throw a few more on." An hour
and a half _further_ down the road . . .
I have strangers stop me in stores and accuse me of being a drag
queen, or a sloppy boxer. I don't wear make-up! My last black eye
was in the third grade, for chrissakes! But I do sport these
spectacular dark rings around my eyes. Kids I don't know point and
laugh at the Raccoon Man.
It's not just that all the driving wears me out; I wake up every
morning utterly exhausted. You want to know about nightmares? A map
of the United States as a family dot-to-dot. Did you ever die in a
dream? I do all the time. Last night the hypothermia got me. We
wound up at Uncle Bob's igloo outside Fairbanks, and I was dressed in
shorts and a muscle shirt. It's not that I have the sexy musculature to
flaunt, just that when and where I'd first climbed in the car it was 95
degrees with matching humidity.
What can I do? Handcuff myself to a towel rack in the bathroom and
swallow the key? That works, but it's not much fun. Get a note from
my doctor saying _no more roadtrips_? That gets expensive: my
insurance company disallows preventative medicine.
I know, I know. Be a man. Just do a Nancy Reagan. So I did sit down
and weigh it all out. You refuse, what's the worst that can happen?
She files for divorce. Well, hey, _problem solved!_
So now most the time I just stay in town. I've learned the preemptive
strike. I know all the signs. I keep her overnight bag packed. I run
and get it when I see Laura getting that glazed look, holding her hands
curled and bent out in front of her. Flecks of foam form at the corners
of her mouth and she starts babbling about family. I hand her the
keys and give her a kiss, steer her out the door, "Bye honey, have a
safe trip, say hi to everyone, see you in a couple . . . " Days? Weeks?
Months? Time, like distance, means nothing to these people.
Of course I am a very well behaved bachelor boy. Scruples aside, it's
the better bet. Sure I could be in bed with a bimbo having a hot
afternoon nap, but it's safer to be lingering over lunch with the
newspaper. Laura having left at dawn, they could have hit the eastern
seaboard and already be back at the step-uncle's a hundred miles to
the south. "Hey Laura, where's Carl?" "Oh, he decided to stay home."
"Well, hey, let's go visit him!" Don't laugh, it's happened. I looked out
the front window and saw all these figures lumbering up across the
lawn. I nearly dropped from heart attack! I thought my life had
suddenly turned into a George Romero flick. _He-e-ell-o-o-o, we're here
to eat your bra-a-a-in!_
There are times, naturally, when I do choose to bite the bullet. When I
sense the conditions are most favorable. Such was the moment when I
agreed to go along to her mother's. Laura cajoled me, "Please please
please please, I promise promise promise promise, mom really really
really really wants to see you, and it'd mean so so so so much much
much much to me me me me." My mother-in-law is great. She's the dot
just 100 miles to the east. And I hadn't gone to see her in nearly half
a year. It is germane to explain that Laura sprung the news on me as
we lay tangled in the sheets. _Ooh, this isn't playing fair_, was about
all my mind could muster, because of course she'd just deliberately
fucked my brains out. Which isn't to say I had no life left in me.
While the words crowded out her mouth, her fingers were doing some
talking all their own, and the look in her eyes was telling me something
else. _Say yes and I'll shut up, and then I'll need something else to fill
up my mouth_. How could I so no to that? When she works at it,
Laura can be _very_ persuasive in her arguments. The wonder is that
she doesn't do it all the time. Felled by the intoxication of her charms,
she could just throw me in the backseat like so much dead meat. But
then when we arrived, the car doors opened, the gathering crowd would
swoon from the heady aroma. There, I suppose, is the glitch. If she
made me shower off first I'd sober up. "Gee honey, thanks for showing
me in advance how much you're going to miss me. Have a good time!
Luv ya babe."
Ahh, the secrets we learn when we bother to sit around and think them
through.
"Weeeellllllll," she began ominously a few days later. That hinted
enough at the imminent evil that I replied, "Okay, I'm not going."
"Nononononono," she soothed. "See, my cousin and her new baby are
going to be up at my aunt's so mom and I will be driving up Sunday in
the morning for an hour and then coming right back . . .
_butbutbutbutbut_ you can just stay at mom's and sleep late and hang
out by yourself the way I know you like to do and wait for us to come
back early in the afternoon."
"One condition," I replied.
"Agreed," Laura answered, "_anything_ you want. Rent movies, have a
pizza delivered for lunch, hire a hooker to entertain you, whatever, you
name it."
"You take your mom's car."
"Huh?"
"That way when you call from Earl's house in Texas you'll get your
mom's answering machine. And I'll be able to be already safe and snug
and well asleep back at home in my own bed. By the way, how exactly
does Earl fit into the pantheon anyway?"
It took awhile for Laura to answer. She was raised according to the
etiquette books, and of course it is terribly rude to talk with a full
mouth. Eventually she came up for air and gasped, "You got it."
Weaving as I was I found it hard not to trip on the knot of pants
around my ankles. And then, "Earl's a long story. Starts with my
great-grandfather Anson's sort of step-sister and a ranch hand from
Mexico . . . " The story got a bit muffled after that point, and I wasn't
really listening anyway. Earl had maybe once briefly been a foster
child of a relative who was actually adopted . . . but the lineage linking
him to Anson's sort of step-sister got lost in translation. All these sort
of details drive me crazy. None of it mattered. I was _in_ that car.
Come Sunday morning I couldn't sleep with all the racket Laura and her
mom were making. There I sat, grouchy, a newspaper to distract me
and a cup of coffee my only weapon to beat back the grogginess that
seemed to have replaced my body's calcium content, petrifying my bones
into a bunch of surly sticks. _Go away and let me get back to sleep_
was the only thought my brain could hold. Laura was on the phone,
then suddenly off in the car. My mother-in-law, bless her, knew better
than to try me with chit-chat at that hour. Then Laura was back with
her sister Rachel. _What is going on?_ I could barely wonder.
Rachel is the family anomaly. She was born, bred and is certain to die
in this city. She is lost to the family heritage. Put her in a four-
wheeled metal box going at highway speeds and she gets profoundly
carsick. Not that she doesn't have the family urge. She once came into
a fair sum of money, but promptly blew it all on airfare. She is famous
for once having parachuted into a family gathering, with no prior
experience. Back roads and a bicycle and pedaling hundreds of miles.
After a few turns of renting scooters out of desperation she is, I
understand, thinking of buying a motorcycle. Apparently in the open
air and on two wheels she'll be able to do just fine breaking land-speed
records. But no way would she be clambering in the car with these two
for the upcoming adventure.
"Why is she here?" I whispered.
"Oh, thought I'd get you a little company," Laura replied with a twinkle.
"No one like a sister to be safer than a hooker."
"What are you talking about?" This wasn't really a question. It was
more an expression of my general morning confusion. Ever feel like you
were a television? Your brain the guts and your eyes the screen?
Someone's turned the volume and brightness knobs all the way up?
And you're parked on a channel of static? No? Oh, you were born with
cable. Never mind. No, wait. _Disconnect the line!_ There you go.
No? You can see what I'm talking but you don't know what I mean?
_Grrr_, where's my coffee?
"Oh _c'mon_. Be a sport. You can do it. She wants you to do it. Give
her a nudge and she'll be jumping all over you. It's your reward for
being such a good boy."
"What? I'm supposed to say, hypothetically, 'C'mon Rachel, spread 'em
wide 'cause Laura said so.'"
"You could possibly phrase it more delicately than that. Oh forget it
you big goof. I'll have a word with Rachel myself. Leave the door
open for you."
Did I believe her? No. No way. What was she talking about anyway?
I whacked myself on the side of the head. That's what you do to
improve reception if you don't have cable. Nothing made any greater
sense, but the newspaper print was a tiny bit clearer.
There was a great fluttering as they got ready to go. It was like a
herd of birds let loose in the house. Or a stampeding flock of buffalo.
Whichever, whatever, it was driving me crazy so I grabbed my stuff and
dived out the door to the front porch.
"See you sweetie. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. And you know
what I'd do if I were you, _haw haw_."
The slamming of little metal doors. The engine roaring to life. And
then _the sound_. The sound I haven't mentioned before because no
one would believe it. _I_ don't believe. I hear it every time and still I
don't believe it. It is, I suppose, a direct expression of their eagerness
to _go_. Their git-go. Go _anywhere_. They squeal their tires. That's
the sound. But I don't know how. There are no clutches to pop.
There's not a manual transmission in all the family--I don't know why,
some sort of religious prohibition. I'm sitting on the front porch in the
middle of the morning and it sounds like the middle of the night. Some
young toughs and their jacked up rods endangering all of America by
having illegal drag races down city streets in the very early a.m. hours.
That's what it sounds like. But it's just Laura and her mom reversing
down the driveway at about 2 1/2 miles per hour. These things drive
me crazy.
I looked over and noticed Rachel had joined me on the porch. She was
waving with a wistful look on her face, then sighed to no one, "I wish I
could go."
Nothing against her, but that made it unanimous. Like, _doesn't your
mom have a bucket around here?--maybe something with a lid?_ Once
the car was gone from view I felt a great unclenching of my stomach.
Great, but not complete. The morning and afternoon were mine, but I'd
still have to take the time to run Rachel home. _Count your blessings
and quit your bitchings._
I was looking forward to lazing about with a book I was particularly
enjoying. Drinking coffee until my head exploded. I'd save movies and
hookers for another time, but a pizza for lunch sounded perfect. But a
medium one, all of it the way I wanted it. Not a large one split down
the middle with all the nasty stuff I don't like spilling over and ruining
half my share.
"Ready to go?" I asked in a not particularly questioning tone.
"You bet," Rachel grinned in a way that didn't seem appropriate to the
obvious slagging off I was presenting her with.
We had a quiet drive over, though Rachel grew a little more animated as
we got closer to her apartment. I remained the sullen old bastard
behind the wheel. _Can't talk, gotta concentrate on the road--accidents
everywhere just waiting to jump out at you._ It had nothing much to
do with her, I just wasn't in the family mood. Rachel really was no
different from the rest of them. They were all cast from the same mold,
_cloned from the same mold_ if I was feeling vicious. Attractive, witty,
intelligent and born to roam. She'd have that Harley soon enough. And
then, _watch out!_ She'd be the one to finally track down the rumor of
a relative in a dogskin tent down in Tierra del Fuego.
Luck was against me when we got to her building. I'd been praying for
a street lined bumper-to-bumper but instead there was plenty of curb
space for me to pull alongside. I put it in Park but kept the motor
running. Rachel was halfway out her side before she realized what I
was attempting. "Turn it off," she commanded. "You _are so_ coming
in." Ah, that authoritarian streak I knew so well. Totalitarian is the
better choice of word. "Hey, come on. At least for a minute. You've
never seen my place before," she coaxed. "Besides, I have a present for
you I forgot to bring over." No innuendo there. It was a toss-up
which one of us was getting the more flustered. "I know I'm a scary
_girl_ and all, but I promise: _I don't bite_." This whole one-sided
exchange was driving me crazy. My brain was _screaming_ at me, _will
you please be civil and just get the fuck out of the car and visit for a
few minutes?_ I was balking, _you know damn well what always
happens_ then. _Br-ring_, _br-ing_. Or _br-ring br-ing_. Or _chirp
chirp chirp_. Of course I was reacting from blind instinct. Once the
argument entered the realm of terror of travel, the fabric of my logic
was moth-eaten. I sensed something wrong with the shifting of ground
but I felt so drained I surrendered. The whole of me got out of the
car. There was that relief. The scene had started feeling as though
I'd be spending the next ten years of my life sitting in the car refusing
to get out of the car.
I apologized as we went up her walk. Some garbled bit about thinking
a few hours to myself being chiseled in stone. If Rachel had replied
that I really was nuts, I could have used my stock phrase about having
heard that one before. Instead she said, "Laura's right: you really are
nuts." With the wind sucked from my sails I listed along soundlessly.
Rachel's alleged present was real, propped against the wall right inside
her door, exactly where she'd left it to remember it, exactly where she'd
left it forgotten this morning. A small cheaply framed unattributed
woodblock print she'd found at a yard sale for a dollar or two. It
depicted--in purple ink and the crudity of an amateur's handling of a
crude medium--a naked woman standing in a cornfield. I stood there
stunned. It was the most lovely work of art I'd seen in years. There
was no way for Rachel to have guessed except through a flash of pure
intuition.
"H-h-how?" I stammered.
"I don't know. I caught a glimpse of it and wouldn't have stopped for
a second look, except for the rustling of corn. The woman was jumping
up and down flapping her arms and shouting _Give me to Carl, give me
to Carl!_"
I gave her a quick hug in thanks. Afterwards I was obliged to stand
around. I really wanted to get going. I openly admired the casual but
tasteful-on-a-budget furnishings of the livingroom. It was a nice
enough space, dealt with in a nice enough manner. The futon folded on
the floor as a low sofa, covered in a huge sheet of red batik. An odd
solid thick chair carved all over dating to the days when furniture
wasn't supposed to be comfortable. A nice selection of nice things
decorating the walls. Improvised shelves for all the books. The modern
corner for sight and sound and such arranged in an unobtrusive way.
The ergonomic chair in front of the computer that really I would have
stolen if I'd had half a chance. I threw my sweet comments about as a
scattering of candy. By the end I was ready to go. I started making
those shuffling motions.
"Surely you don't have to leave already? C'mon, exactly what sort of
pressing business do you have to attend to?"
I gulped, trying to make up a guess. Everything I could think of
sounded like a really lame slap of her face. _Did you know I'm directly
descended from Garbo?_ I have my _vants_.
Rachel took a few steps towards me. "So, did Laura have a word with
you, too?"
I replied with as blank a look as my face could barely hold.
She shrugged with a curly set to her lips. "I only ask because she
sure had a word with me."
"A wh-wh-what?" I stammered. "A word? Wh-wh-what word? That is I
mean I guess no she didn't, not that I know of."
The life of a bluff is only as long as it lasts. The value of a bluff is
only as long as it works. I was born a terrible hand at poker. I seem
to have this subcutaneous electronic billboard built into my face. It's
invisible until it starts flashing away _LIAR LIAR LIAR_.
Rachel gestured around with her hand then moved in for the kill.
"Here, let me give you the grand tour. These are my lips," she kissed.
"Let me introduce my breasts," she rubbed them against me. She knew
what she was doing. She was driving me crazy. With a long sigh I
succumbed. My hands mirrored hers in moving around and down. "I
see you're having the pleasure of meeting my ass, so . . . " she moved
one of my hands between her legs, "guess what I like to do with this."
Right about then something strange happened to gravity. _Both our
shirts flew up in the air!_ The anomaly didn't last long. Our pants
dropped _down_ around our legs.
Rachel was nipping my lips and busy finding buried treasures down
inside my underpants. I had a hand admiring the mountainous regions
up north. There wasn't a strand of _big and droopy_ DNA in all the
family. But nevertheless, as I was again experiencing first hand, it was
a surprise to see that all that there was didn't need the support of a
bra. Firm and proud is the family tradition. Laura wears a bra in the
word-a-day world to try and disguise the genetically prominent nipples.
Born to be suckled. Oh, and a couple racy lacy numbers she'll put on
to please me into crawling out of bed and into the car. My other hand
had meanwhile fast returned to the valley down south, where the river
runs fast and deep. Funny, I couldn't remember Rachel having spilled a
drink in her lap, but there I was fingering the evidence. I felt
through the fabric and found a little button. _Aha_, an on/off switch!
Wonder what it controls? I gave it a press, and immediately her pelvis
swung into action.
"What are you _doing_?" Rachel crooned in my ear. "You're getting me
_so_ excited! Are you trying to make me cream in my panties, huh? Is
that what you want? Get them sopping wet with pussy juice, hmm?
Yea, and then what? Make me come like crazy and just soak them?
And then what? Are you going to take them off so you can fuck me,
yea? And then keep them as a momento? Yea? Uh huh? Of how you
got me so hot and horny I couldn't control myself? My pretty little
panties all sweet and sticky? And take them home with you? Keep
them so you can take them out sometimes, huh? Like when you're alone
and kind of horny? And then what'll you do? Huh? Maybe sniff them?
And then? A good whiff of my lush cunt and then, yea? you just have
to jack-off like crazy?"
Rachel was giving me a pretty good demonstration of that technique.
All this prattle was driving me crazy. It felt just like being in the car.
_My Life Among a Wandering Tribe._ The journey without end. Okay,
okay, a glimpse around the bend, I was pretty sure of the destination.
All this talk, did she start it for my benefit? There is that secret
manual, and you never know who has a copy. If they don't they don't
but if they do they have the whole text memorized. _"Remember, lots of
talk about your hot box and love sauce--the guys just lap it up!"_ But
the beginning differed from the end. I couldn't hide my excitement, but
hers was miles ahead. At the start her panties had felt quite damp, but
that was a desert region compared to the drenching they'd gotten by
now. And then the earthquake hit. Rachel took the full force of the
tremor, buckling at the knees and collapsing against me. I had an arm
around her, but mostly it was my hand between her legs that kept her
from the floor. Imagine that pressure! It set of a chain reaction I
couldn't think how to stop. The more she slumped the harder I had to
press up the more she slumped . . . I was just going to have to let her
drop to the ground.
Suddenly a burst of energy surged through her limbs. It was a
miracle! She could stand by herself. She could walk again! "Now that
you've gotten yourself so well acquainted with my livingroom," Rachel
growled, "how about we go meet my bedroom?"
That voyage was a funny sack race, the both of us hopping along in
the tangle of our pants. "Go away!" I shouted at mine, "I don't need
you right now."
I finally caught up with Rachel at the edge of the bed. One last lunge
and I grabbed her by the hips. The force sent her bent belly-down on
the covers. I prized off my panty prize, peeling them over her ass and
down her legs. "These are _mine_ now," I crowed. "Here, pants, catch!
Stash these in your pocket and _run_."
Rachel turned a look back at me and giggled, arching her bottom up in
the air. "I hope you're not one to be content with ribbons and bows.
That's just the present's wrapping. All _this_," she wiggled, "is yours
now too!"
I stood there stopped, gaping, sort of gasping. Rachel rolled over and
drew her legs up so that her feet were on the bed, her knees held high
and wide. She dipped a hand all the way down between them, a finger
or two playing among her treasures. "You tell me," she crooned, "am I
as slick and swollen as I feel."
"Um, hard to say." _Duh._ "I think I need I closer look." _Double du-
u-uhhhh._ I went to my knees, my face descending into the heady mist
rising up from her valley. _Feeding frenzy_ was a phrase that ran
through my mind.
She did make some mention along the lines of hot box and love sauce.
And boy did I ever lap it up! I sent my tongue deep down to drink at
the source. It returned back resplendent with tales of its adventures
and discoveries. Then I got curious about that little button again.
What would happen if I licked it? Flicked it? Swirled my tongue all
around it, gave it a lippy nibble, and then sucked it?
It was a versatile little switch. Rachel's thighs were no longer spread
so wide. Indeed they seemed to want to slam together tight, but my
head was in the way. Her hips couldn't decide whether they wanted to
push her sex against my mouth even harder, or pull away completely.
Hands were at my head, tearing out tufts of hair. Various combinations
set off the alarms, while another set her seismic core in motion.
But then I must have broken the button. Everything kept happening
all at the same time, and there didn't seem to be any way to turn any
of it off. _Man_, I wish I had a toy like _that_ between _my_ legs!
I mean, I pack a marvel all my own. Walk around all day and hardly
know it's there. You have to wrestle it out through your fly in time to
not pee in your pants. Then _presto!_ with no warning and in scant
seconds, the thing is suddenly _huge_. And it _shoots_ stuff out its
tip. But what drives me crazy is the design flaw. The pump motor just
_eats_ the batteries, and as far as I know there's no AC adapter on the
market.
Eventually, to my relief, most of her fuss settled down. Rachel pulled
me all the way on top of her, then scooted us more towards the middle
of the bed.
Her stroking fingers went like her family, visiting all the various spots
of my body. "Okay, I gave you your present. Now where's mine?
Laura said you had a nice big present for me."
And indeed I did. "Indeed I do. Where would you like to take delivery
of it. It is kind of large, and it takes up a fair amount of space"
"So I've noticed. Oh, just put it wherever you think it'll fit in best."
A wee nudge from me and I'd found just the spot.
"Oh yes! _Right there!_ That'll be perfect. Though maybe push it in
some more so nobody trips over it."
I pushed it in all the way, but it didn't feel quite right, so I pulled it
almost all the way out. Then I sunk it back in at a slightly different
angle. Naw, so I pulled it almost all the way out again. Let's try it
from this direction. Hmmm? Maybe not, back up once more . . .
"Uh huh, oh yea, I can tell you've been well-trained. I'll have to put
in a good word to your boss. And such aptitude! You're a perfect fit
for the job. You certainly deliver those goods, and how!"
If I remembered right, what I had to do was sort of press down while
also nudging upwards, and that should shut off the flow of words. Hey,
it worked! The button wasn't broken after all! Rachel's eyes took on
that glowy glaze in confirmation. Her legs slapped shut around my
waist and her hands went to a tight grip on my ass. We settled in for
a long slow serious fuck.
Whether this was better than an afternoon of pizza and reading and
peace and quiet I'll never know. There never was a minute of any of
that to hold up in comparison. Not that I'm complaining. The only
complaint I heard was towards the finish line. At the tail-end of a low
groan Rachel whimpered, "You bastard, I'm not going to be able to walk
tomorrow. If I have another one I'm going to die!" She didn't sound
too unhappy with the prospect.
"What?" I whispered in her ear, "you don't think this is driving me
crazy too?" Her bones may have all turned to jelly, but I knew there
wasn't a dumb one in all her body. Soon enough her fingers found my
safety catch and the trigger and she emptied the chamber. And she did
have another one, which, if anything, made her all the more alive. It
was still the same day, but she didn't have any trouble walking me out
to the car. Though her legs did seem to keep wrapping themselves
around mine.
I find it hard to get a good grip on the passage of time myself
anymore. I was snapped from my daze by the seatbelt's ominous
_click_. "Oh no!" I keened.
"Don't worry," Laura soothed me, "we're going home."
After a few miles I started nodding off. "What's the matter, baby?
Miss your afternoon nap?" I was spiraling downward too quickly to
respond.
And then I was getting out of the car. "This isn't home," I snapped.
"Just a brief pitstop," Laura answered briskly, "barely a detour."
It was a brother I never knew she even had! We were at a point
roughly 100 miles northwest of our house, in a city I'd never seen. She
explained as we got in the car for the absolute last leg of the journey.
"He just moved back. He was living for years in California, but you
never made it that far."
"So like what? He sacrificed himself for the sake of family? Gave up
the sun and fun for this."
"Basically yes. There's a glut of us out in California. The noble boy's
filling a gap. Henry's now the eastern edge of the western trail." This
news was driving me crazy. It took ten minutes for the shivers to quit
running up and down my spine.
Laura shot me a queer look. "Are you having some sort of attack?"
"Basically, yes."
It was so late by the time we got home I just wanted to drop dead on
the bed. Instead Laura detained me in the livingroom, ripe for some
bright conversation. "So. Did you have fun today while I was gone?"
"Huh?"
She closed the gap and began fondling me with a smug look on her
face. "What'd you do, hmm? Get some good exercise? A real workout?
Did you get your rocks off and knock her socks off? Well?"
Well? Well well well. Well it was her idea in the first place. "Yea, I
did."
"Yea, and does Rachel have a nice tight hot juicy pussy like me?"
"Uhm. Definite family resemblance there."
"You know what? I don't believe you. I don't think you had the balls
to go through with it."
"May not be much left in my balls to go through it now, but at the time
I guarantee you there was plenty."
She gave me a dubious look. "Oh right. Feels like a big old load in
there right now."
_Enough of this teasing_, I thought. I pulled the proof from my pocket
and dangled them right in front of her nose.
"So my sister's perpetually horny. Happens when you don't have a man
around the house. Though I do think it's cute that you raided her
hamper to try and impress me."
I undid my pants in a flash. "Try this," I taunted.
"You dipped your wick in a bowl of fish chowder? That's kind of sick."
"Taste it!" I roared. "Lick it, slurp it, suck it!"
Laura sunk to her knees and sunk it in her mouth. No more words
now. And whoa, what a mouth! It was driving me crazy. The booster
rockets were ready to blast when she stopped, stood up and walked
away.
"Hey! No fair!"
"What?" she asked innocently over her shoulder. "Didn't I do a good
job. Looks all clean to me."
The race was on! Laura had the clear advantage of a fastened skirt,
but my pants were still up, held in my hands, and I wasn't far behind.
I finally caught up with Laura at the edge of the bed. One last lunge
and I grabbed her by the hips. The force sent her bent belly-down on
the covers. Up went that skirt! Laura turned a look back at me and
giggled, arching her bottom up in the air. I plunged right in with no
problem, leaving Laura gasping for air. I was going along my merry
way when it hit me.
"Hey, where are _your_ panties?"
"Check your _other_ pocket, sleepy head," she trilled. "Had to take
them off," she grunted. "Been thinking about this all day." She gave
a great groan, "Next time mom can go alone."
Next time? There was the fine sight of my cock plunging in and out of
her cunt. Next time. The wonderful feeling of her ass, squeezing it
with my hands. Next time. Not to mention the hand of hers that'd
ducked under to gently jiggle my balls. Next time? And the incredible
rippling grip on my cock when she went into combustion. No, next time.
That was it. The implications were driving me crazy. Next time!
Sometimes just a few little words is all it takes to send you soaring
over the edge.
=========================
Like? Yes? No? Comments welcome. losgud@hotmail.com
=========================
I am archived at DejaNews under the "Author" name:
lushgod@hotnomail.com
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